Photo by Marianna Smiley
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Introducing the Wounded
Kristy Nielsen We line the hallways, heads between our knees like children in tornado drills. Or else we pivot the piano, center of the room, to sing the songs of glue and fumble through the dance of broken pieces. Head held low and pelvis scooped voices chipped from glaciers of rejection. Orphaned, damaged, illegitimate, we take support in wooden shoulders of open doors, find comfort in the balm of blink and exhale. Any piece of privacy provides the serum for its poison ambush if we knew to look. Every stutter in the heartbeat a rebuke against the need to scab, refusal to evolve the truer person underneath. |